Penmanship

Penmanship

The best time to draw Eimi was when she was drunk.

Yuu giggled as her pen skittered across the page. Eimi was sitting on the low square table and pouting at the other doujinshika, twisting her fingers in the material of her uniform skirt and huffing in mock-annoyance.

Pausing thoughtfully, Yuu set down her clipboard and waved her pen in Eimi’s direction. “That won’t do. Take off the skirt.”

If Eimi was going to put up a fight, she didn’t, clamping her mouth shut and obediently removing the skirt.

“The shirt, too,” added Yuu as an afterthought, grinning wickedly as Eimi flushed.

“No.”

“I thought you were going to let me draw you?”

“You can draw me with,” hiccup, “a shirt on.”

“No I can’t,” insisted Yuu, crawling forward and laying her hands on Eimi’s bare legs. Artist’s hands crept over curved calves and round knees, sliding over Eimi’s thighs and over white panties. “Off.” It came out as a mystified breath, Yuu’s fingers undoing the buttons before Eimi could protest further. The blouse fell away to reveal perk breasts, uninhibited by the lack of a bra.

Yuu’s underwear felt wet.

Eimi was silent, regarding Yuu with curious, hungry eyes. In silent agreement Yuu striped off her own clothes, sliding up onto the table after nipping at Eimi’s left hip.

“The panties, too, Eimi-chan.”

They were flung aside all too eagerly. Yuu giggled again, watching Eimi spread her legs, tongue darting across pale lips. She took the pen she’d been using and wedged it into Eimi, purring as the other girl gasped, locking their lips in a rough kiss.

“Yuu-chan,” whined the schoolgirl as they broke apart. She fingered Yuu’s nipples as the older of the two returned her attention to the wet cavern between Eimi’s legs, wiggling the pen out and replacing it with scissoring fingers.

Eimi whined and moaned, convulsing on the table, bucking her hips, trying to drive Yuu further inside of her. Yuu watched, fascinated, her clitoris clenching in time to Eimi’s rugged pants. Finally the girl came, spilling her milk onto the tabletop. She scrambled upward and kissed Yuu soundly, just like she liked, massaging sore breasts until Yuu moaned and came as well.

They curled up together in the sticky aftermath, Eimi fingering Yuu’s hair absently. Tomorrow they would awaken, horrified as always, Eimi going bright red in the face and pulling on her uniform before running off to school. Days might pass, possibly weeks, but she’d be back, drunk, and Yuu wouldn’t mind.

After all, the best time to draw Eimi was when she was drunk.